


Prisoners in the Land of Nod

by Lucilla Darkate (lustmordred)



Category: Dark Tower - Stephen King
Genre: Car Sex, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Drugs, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:53:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lustmordred/pseuds/Lucilla%20Darkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night was full of water and smoke. The water was ghosting in off of the bay in the form of fog. The smoke was drifting skyward in rings from Henry Dean’s mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prisoners in the Land of Nod

The night was full of water and smoke. The water was ghosting in off of the bay in the form of fog. The smoke was drifting skyward in rings from Henry Dean’s mouth.

Eddie watched the smoke and thought of asking Henry for a cigarette. He shivered and crossed his arms over his narrow chest so he could scratch both arms at the same time. Fuck, he needed a fix bad.

“Henry?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I get a cigarette?”

Henry tossed the pack in the back seat. Eddie picked it up and took one out. His fingers were shaking as he lit it with the little red plastic Bic lighter Henry kept in a rubber band attached to the pack. He took in a drag and hoped the nicotine would make him feel a little better.

It didn’t.

“I need to fix bad, man,” Eddie said. Now even his voice was shaking. 

Henry finished his cigarette and flicked the butt out the window. It sparked as it bounced against the pavement. “I know.”

“Is he coming yet? Look again.”

Someone tapped on the window right next to him and Eddie jumped.

“Hey, junkie!”

Eddie glared at the man on the other side of the glass and scratched.

“Shut the fuck up, Jack,” Henry said. “Leave him alone.”

“Whatever, man,” Jack said. He moved over to lean in Henry’s window. “You got my money, Henry?”

He had a silver feather in his left earlobe, Eddie noticed. He didn’t think he’d ever met this Jack before.

“You got the stuff?” Henry asked.

“Yeah, I got the stuff, Henry, but you don’t get shit ‘til I get my money,” Jack said.

Eddie twitched and shifted nervously in the back seat. He took another drag on his cigarette, then rolled down the window and tossed it out in disgust. 

“Payment’s in the back,” Henry said. He sounded calm and tired, and Eddie knew that he was neither. He needed a fix too, just as bad as Eddie did, if not worse. 

Jack looked in the back seat beside Eddie. The only thing there was Henry’s pack of Pall Malls and the lighter. “You got my payment, junkie?” he asked Eddie.

Eddie met his eyes. His skin was crawling and itching, so he scratched it. It didn’t help. He needed to fix. If he fixed, the itching and jittering would stop. If he fixed, he would feel better. If he fixed…all would be right with Eddie Dean’s little world. 

“I am the payment,” Eddie said, and though he was dancing the junkie shuffle there in the back seat and _this fucking close_ to scratching off his skin, his voice was strong and steady. He knew what he was doing, what he was agreeing to, what he was _offering_ to this unknown dealer with the silver feather in his ear. He knew, and though he was afraid and disgusted, there was something in Eddie Dean (steel, Roland, the last gunslinger, would call it years and worlds later. It was what his big brother, Henry, the Great Sage and Eminent Junkie, saw when he told his buddies that he would pick Eddie, his little bro’, because Eddie could talk the devil himself into setting himself on fire.) that could permit it and allow him to endure. “I _am_ the payment,” Eddie said again. This time, he even smiled a little.

“Oh yeah?” Jack said. “What do I want with some scrawny little junkie punk, huh?”

Eddie shrugged.

“You can do whatever you want with him, long as you don’t hurt him,” Henry said. “You got ten fucking minutes, though. That’s all. Then you give us our shit, alright?”

“Whatever I want?” Jack said. “Fuck, Henry, ten minutes of whatever I want with your kid brother ain’t _worth_ shit. Stop wasting my time.”

Jack huffed out an annoyed breath and started to leave. 

“Henry,” Eddie whispered desperately. “Man, I’m going to tear my fucking skin off. I _need_ a fix. Need it bad.”

“Fifteen,” Henry said.

Jack paused. He seemed to be considering it and Eddie relaxed a little. He would take it, this Jack, would take the offer. Eddie would take a fuck in the ass, but he’d get his fix, and that’s what mattered. And fifteen minutes wasn’t so bad. He could handle fifteen minutes. Sure he could.

“Alright, Henry,” Jack said, turning back around. “Fifteen minutes, then you get your shit.”

“And we’re square,” Henry said. “I don’t owe you nothin’. Not a fucking thing.”

Jack smiled brilliantly, flashing his teeth and the empty spot on the right where he was missing one. That smile was shifty and Eddie almost told Henry to forget it, the fuck was lying to them. Then he felt the tingle and itch in his arms and had to scratch again and he forgot. 

It didn’t matter. All pushers were liars. Every junkie knew that.

“Yeah, Henry, then we’re square,” Jack said. He looked at Eddie again and made a gesture with his hand. “Take your clothes off,” he said. “It doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure out what I want from you, junkie. Lose the threads.”

Eddie sat there for a moment, not moving, except to scratch his scratches while he wished urgently for a fix. Then with a sigh, he pulled his shirt off, toed off his shoes, and lifted his hips up so he could unfasten his jeans and push them down and off. 

“Socks too,” Jack said, opening the door climbing into the back seat with Eddie.

Eddie took off his socks and shivered. He looked at the guy, Jack, out of the corners of his eyes and suddenly wanted to be anywhere but where he was. Anywhere. The guy wasn’t bad looking, Eddie supposed. He wasn’t pock-marked or pimply or big and burly. He was lean and dark like a cat, and he had high cheekbones that suggested some American Indian in his family tree (which might have explained the silver feather earring). He wasn’t bad looking, but he was a _guy_ , and Eddie wasn’t a queer. He liked women. He liked girls. He liked tits and ass, thank you very much. 

However, Jack didn’t give Eddie much time to worry about that. He grabbed Eddie’s leg and shoved him. “Make this easy on both of us, junkie,” he said. “Get on your knees.”

Eddie hesitated, then climbed up on the seat on his hands and knees. He let his head hang down and tried to keep his breathing even, despite his rising panic. It was okay, fine. Everything was fine. Hadn’t he and Henry talked about it? They didn’t have any money, but they needed the drugs. Henry had said he would do it, but Eddie said no. Eddie said he loved Henry, but, “man, let’s be honest; you’re not a fucking beauty queen.” Henry said he didn’t want Eddie to do it. That he, Henry, could take a shot in the ass, no problem, but he didn’t want it to happen to Eddie. Eddie had just looked at him and said, “Henry, nobody wants to fuck you. Get over it, bro’.” Henry stared at him for almost a full minute, then they both hooted with laughter. They laughed so hard that they just about pissed themselves. They laughed so hard that they almost forgot what they were laughing about and all about getting their fix.

Almost.

Eddie heard the _clink_ of Jack’s belt buckle unfastening, and a moment later, the brush of the leather strap across his ass, and took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Then Jack pressed a finger inside his asshole, then another, and Eddie thought, _fuck, this would be so much easier if I had a fix_ , and that was certainly true, because if Eddie had a fix, he’d be nodding right now, and Ferdinand the Bull could fuck him bareback if he was on the nod and Eddie wouldn’t say _boo_. Because it was just his body, that was all, and when he had his fix, when he was nodding, everything was all right.

Well, everything was _not_ all right at the moment. Jack had his fingers in Eddie’s ass and he was moving them around, making room for himself like he was planning on setting up house, and Eddie could think of a hundred ways to describe what he was right now, and none of them was “all right”. 

“You got something I can use to—?” Jack started to ask.

Henry tossed a small tube and a little placket to him over the back of the seat. “Use the condom, Jack.”

“Henry, you know I don’t got nothin’,” Jack said, but he ripped open the placket and took out the condom. 

“I know you hang with whores, pimps, dealers, and junkies all day, Jack,” Henry said. “So I _don’t_ know no such thing.”

Jack took his fingers out of Eddie’s asshole long enough to put the condom on and slick himself with lube. 

Eddie shivered and balanced his weight on one arm so he could scratch himself with the other. “Hurry up, man,” he said. 

Jack made an amused chuffing sound, then his fingers were back in Eddie’s asshole and they were slick, and this time he touched a spot with one of those fingers that sent a quivering spark of something through Eddie’s body and made him catch his breath. Jack pulled his fingers out again, cupped Eddie’s ass in his hands, and spread him wide, the tips of his thumbs pressing down, holding him open.

Eddie made a little distressed whimpering sound in the back of his throat before gritting his teeth and biting it back. “Hurry the fuck up and do it already, if you’re going to do it,” he hissed. 

Jack laughed and leaned forward to swipe his tongue over the back of Eddie’s ear. Eddie thought he was going to be sick. No, he was almost positive. 

Then Jack pressed the tip of his cock to Eddie’s ass and pushed inside. Slowly. So slowly that Eddie felt every single inch as it entered his body and had time to anticipate the pain of it, and to realize that it was not that painful. It didn’t feel good, but he’d have been a fucking idiot to think that it would. But it didn’t hurt either. 

Then Jack stopped going slowly and thrust the rest of the way inside him with a single, sharp snap of his hips. Eddie fell forward on his elbows with a surprised shout—surprised by the sudden movement and by the burst of unexpected and unwanted pleasure that raced along his nerves, up his spine, and under his skin.

“Oh, God,” Eddie gasped. Jack was fully seated in his ass now, bent over him, panting in his ear, and Eddie wanted to be repulsed by it and a part of him was, but another part, the _immediate_ part, was clinging to the edge of the seat, fingers gone white, trembling and contracting with unholy pleasure. “Fuck, oh, god, oh, _fuck_ ,” Eddie said softly.

Jack chuckled with his face pressed to the back of Eddie’s neck and Eddie shivered. “Bet you’re not thinking about fixing right now, are you, junkie?”

“Eddie?” Henry asked without turning around. “You alright back there?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something quick and clever, after all, that was Eddie Dean’s thing—something like, “You want to trade me places, bro’, just say the word,” or even, “I’ve been better.” But the thing was, yeah, he’d been better, but where he was right now wasn’t half bad. He kind of liked it, and because he loved his big brother more than he’d ever loved anyone in his life, he couldn’t tell him that. He couldn’t tell him that because, though he didn’t know what Henry would think of it, he could just imagine, and it wasn’t good. 

Eddie knew he wasn’t gay. He didn’t worry about that. He liked women. Their smooth skin, their long hair, the way they smelled, the way they tasted. He _really_ had a thing for stockings and garter belts. So he wasn’t gay. He knew he would rather be fucking some big breasted blonde bitch named Barbi with an “i” than getting fucked in the ass in the back seat of Henry’s piece of shit car by Jack with the silver feather earring and a missing tooth on the right side. 

He knew it, but Henry didn’t, and Henry could be mean.

Jack pulled out of him and thrust again, hard. He started moving in and out of Eddie’s body in a rough, steady rhythm and Eddie tried to be quiet, he gritted his teeth and tried not to make a sound but it was like Jack knew what he was doing and had determined to force the sounds, the little moans, whimpers, and cries, out of him. Like it was a game. A game, not to see if he could make Eddie cry and moan, but to see how _many_ times he could make Eddie cry and moan. 

“Eddie, damn it!” Henry said. “Are you alright?”

He was angry. Eddie vaguely understood why, and that it wasn’t directed at him, not really, but at this God fucking situation. He started to say yes, started to say, “don’t worry about it, Henry. I’m fine,” then deep inside him, Jack’s cock touched that spot, slid over that delicious spot, again and whatever Eddie was going to say was lost in a breathless cry.

“Eddie!” Henry said, half turning around to look in the back.

“Shit, oh, god,” Eddie said. “Don’t you dare look back here, Henry!”

“What’s the matter, junkie?” Jack said into Eddie’s ear. “Don’t want your big brother Henry to see me fucking your pretty, tight little ass? That’s not really fair, is it? I heard he got most of his dick shot off over in ‘Nam, anyway. Least you could do is let him watch.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie hissed.

Jack just laughed and resumed his relentless, pounding thrusts. And now that he’d found it, every single one of them slid his cock over that place, that achingly pleasurable spot, until Eddie had to bite down on his own arm to keep from screaming.

“Eddie, you sure you’re alright?” Henry asked uncertainly. He faced straight forward when he asked it, though, and Eddie thought Henry had probably seen everything before Eddie shouted at him and he turned back around. In fact, judging from the firm set of Henry’s jaw when Eddie turned his head on the seat to look, Eddie was almost positive.

“Fine…” Eddie managed, his body rocking under Jack’s thrusts. “I—Turn the…radio on or…something.”

Henry flicked the radio on and searched for something. Probably Johnny Cash, knowing Henry. But Henry didn’t find any Johnny Cash, only some crooners singing their own fucked up soprano version of _The Lion Sleeps Tonight_ , the throbbing rhythm of which made Eddie’s stomach twist sickeningly.

Henry turned it off with a snort, looked at the glowing numbers of the clock, and said over his shoulder, “Two minutes, Jack. You still haven’t shot your load in two minutes, you’re done, and we still get our shit. That was the deal, man.”

Jack grunted and reached around to grasp Eddie’s cock and stroke it. Eddie moaned and rolled his hips forward into that hand. His skin felt at once so tight that he couldn’t stand it, pleasure dancing under it and rushing through his blood—and so large and full that he almost believed he could sink into it and melt. His spine _was_ melting—and burning—but not in a bad way. In fact, it felt fucking fantastic. He knew why Jack was touching him, and it had nothing to do with Eddie and making Eddie feel good, though it did. It was because that skin tightening/growing feeling, that melt-the-spine fantastic feeling, was making Eddie’s ass contract around Jack’s dick. 

This wasn’t rape, Eddie knew that. But like rape, this wasn’t about him at all. 

“Time’s up, Jack,” Henry said. “Get out of him, get off of him, and give me the shit. Now.”

“Fuck…just a…fucking second…almost,” Jack panted. 

Eddie closed his eyes and the thought _close your eyes and think of England_ passed through his mind and he laughed a little breathlessly and writhed. He was this close, _this fucking close_ and he couldn’t remember ever wanting to come this bad in his entire life. 

“Now, Jack,” Henry said.

With a growled curse, Jack started to pull out and Eddie whined and pushed back against him. “No,” he breathed. “Don’t stop…oh, God, please don’t…”

Jack looked down at him in mild astonishment and laughed. “Hear that, Henry? I think your little brother likes me.”

“Shut the fuck up, you prick, and get off him. Now,” Henry said angrily. He still wouldn’t turn around, though. 

“Sorry, kid,” Jack said, and started to pull out of him again. 

Eddie moaned and whimpered. “Henry…”

“What?” Henry asked, his jaw still tight with anger.

“Let him finish.”

Henry did turn around then, at least a little. Enough to meet Eddie’s eyes. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me—”

But he wasn’t, and Henry could see that. He didn’t want to see it, but he did. “Fuck,” he said, fairly spitting the word, then turned back around and slid down in the seat with his arms crossed over his stomach.

Jack pushed back inside him, all the way inside him, and Eddie shuddered. 

“Thanks, kid,” Jack murmured in his ear, then began to thrust again. 

It didn’t take much longer. Maybe five minutes at the outset, and Eddie’s body tightened as a rush of pleasure cut though him and ripped him open. His fingers dug into the edge of the seat and he pressed his face into it to muffle his scream as he came.

His body’s reaction forced Jack’s orgasm a short moment later and Eddie didn’t even notice the strange fullness as the guy came in his ass. Jack fell forward on Eddie’s back, pressing him into the car seat, but Eddie barely noticed. He’d just had the most amazing orgasm of his young life, and it had been with a _man_ , and not only a man, but a _strange_ man. And he was totally okay with it because, holy fucking shit, his fingertips were even tingling. 

“You done?” Henry asked. “Because if you’re done—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack said tiredly, but Eddie thought he sounded amused.

Jack pulled out of him, refastened his pants, and got out of the car. He had the full condom in his hands and he tied the end together with a snap and tossed it somewhere behind the car before he went around to Henry’s window. 

“Here,” he said, and tossed a Ziploc baggy, half full of some cream colored powder, into Henry’s lap. “It’s not China White, but it’s good shit.”

Eddie moved across the seat so he could look over Henry’s shoulder. It _was_ good shit. Really good shit. He didn’t have to taste it to see that, but oh God did he want to taste it. Not China White, just like Jack said, but they hadn’t expected China White. Eddie didn’t think he’d ever even _had_ China White. He didn’t care if he never did either, he just wanted to fix with something that wasn’t brown and poisonous. Something, fuck, _anything_ , just as long as it was now, right now.

Jack leaned into the window again, drawing Eddie’s attention away from the heroin for a moment and reminding him that he was still stark ass naked. Jack looked right at him and grinned.

“What?” Eddie asked, his eyes darting eagerly to the drugs. 

Henry had dipped his finger into the baggy and was tasting it, and watching that almost made Eddie snatch it from his hands. He wanted to. Oh Christ, did he ever. He wanted to bury his face in the contents of that bag and breathe in that not-white powder and _fix_. Fix everything. Fix it all. Fix the anxious, crawling, itching in his skin. Fix the nervous shaking that, if left too long, would become agonizing cramps and spasms. Fix the _hunger_ , the _need_ of his addiction. Fix it _all_.

Henry was apparently satisfied with the stuff because he resealed the bag and tossed it to Eddie. Eddie picked it up and started to open the bag with trembling fingers. A business card landed on top of it and he halted. 

He looked back at Jack, who was smiling his smile (one tooth missing on the right side. _How did that happen, Jack? You come on to the wrong hippy and get your fucking clock cleaned, huh, Jack? I bet you did. Either that or some tattooed hick biker in a bar. Or maybe some hard-ass bitch’s pretty-boy boyfriend. I bet that’s it, isn’t it? Some girl knocked your tooth down your throat because you couldn’t keep your fucking hands off her man. Because you like them pretty, don’t you? Oh, yeah, I got your number, you fucking scuzz._ ), and he narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck is this?”

“Take it easy, junkie,” Jack said. “That’s just an address and a phone number. Call it next time you and your brother are hard-up for some dope. You can make a pretty penny with an ass like yours if you know the right people.”

“And I suppose these are the right people?” Eddie said, his hazel eyes going cold and flat. 

“The very best, Eddie, the very best,” Jack said.

Eddie did not miss his name falling so amicably from the pusher’s mouth. He noticed it, then dismissed it. The fucking dick wanted something from him. He supposed allowing the name of a ‘junkie punk’ to sully his lips was his way of kissing ass. Whatever, Eddie wasn’t interested in selling his ass right now. He had a fuck load of dope sitting right there in his lap and that was all that mattered right now.

“Deal’s done, Jack,” Henry said. “Now fuck off.”

Jack put up his hands and backed away from the car. It was a _hey, man, it’s cool, everything’s cool,_ gesture that made Eddie sneer at him in contempt. He might be nothing but a ‘junkie punk’, a worthless street rat with a King Kong sized monkey on his back who had, not three minutes before, had this guy’s cock up his ass and his hot breath in his ear, but he was not a pusher. Pushers thought they were gods to junkie punks like him, but they were lower than the lowest fucking single-celled splat of a germ. They were vampires who profited from the insane _need_ that rode every junkie like Eddie and Henry Dean. 

They both watched Jack turn and walk away down the street. The fluorescent streetlights glancing off his silver earring when he passed under them, until he was gone.

“Give me the mirror, Henry,” Eddie said. 

Henry passed him the mirror without a word of protest. Eddie used the business card to make four lines on the glass, then he snorted them and sat back with a sigh.

“Give it here,” Henry said. 

Eddie passed him the mirror and the baggy. He went to put the card in his pocket, then realized he had no pockets and laughed.

“Henry?”

Henry snorted, sniffed, wiped his nose, and said, “Yeah?”

“Where are my clothes?”

“On the floor.”

“Oh.” This struck Eddie as vastly amusing and he laughed again. “I wondered. Need a pocket.”

“Put your clothes on, man,” Henry said. “The fucking cops will pull us over.”

Eddie found this even funnier. If the cops pulled them over…well, a naked junkie in the back seat would be the last thing they were worried about. But probably the first thing they noticed, so…

Eddie got dressed. It took a while, he kept putting his shirt on inside-out, and then the zipper tab wouldn’t work, or maybe it was his fingers. He finally had his clothes on, though, and now he had a pocket—two pockets, holy shit, would you lookit that—so he put the card in his pocket and sat back.

Then he sat forward again. “Henry?”

“What, Eddie?” Henry started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. 

“Henry, why’s the fucking seat wet?”

Henry’s jaw tightened. “Must have fucking spilled something back there, man. I don’t know.”

And Eddie knew that Henry was lying, that whatever it was on the seat wasn’t Pepsi or Budweiser; it was something else. He thought he might know what it was, but right at the moment, he couldn’t be bothered to remember because he felt so fucking good. He had fixed. He had fixed and he wasn’t on the nod, but the nod looked to be close. The nod looked to be fucking imminent, if you could dig it. And Eddie could. Eddie could dig it. 

Eddie sat back with a smile on his face and closed his eyes with a sigh. His ass kind of hurt and that sucked. That sucked the big one. But he was going to nod off in a minute, and that was alright. 

Henry flicked on the radio and found some ZZ Top. And ZZ Top wasn’t Johnny Cash, but it did just fine. It did wonderful.

Eddie tapped his fingers lazily on top of his thigh in time to the beat, and everything was good. 

Everything was all right with Eddie Dean’s little world.

  
**XXX**   



End file.
